The End
by Ms Q
Summary: Will must let go of the past before it kills him. UPDATED & OVERHAULED!
1. Part 1

**The End**

**A/N: I have already posted some of this story, but since then I've revised and added so much that I thought I'd just re-post it. As a side note -- This story is set about ten years in the future, which would put them all in their early 40's. AND this is also a little AU. Will finds out Sydney is a spy under different circumstances and they never slept together in S3. Why? Because it suited me to change it and I never really liked that they slept together.  
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Part 1 **

"Oh, God."I stood there with my hands at my side. She was propped up against the concrete wall but her arms and head hung like the appendages of a loose marionette doll. Her hair covered all but the smallest portion of her face so I couldn't see if she had died in surprise, terror, or unknowing oblivion. She was barefoot. 

"Sydney." I couldn't breathe. I just couldn't breathe. I was choking on every breath. I went to her side and reached out to touch her face, but I hesitated, not wanting to see. Because then it'd all be real. Then I'd know she was dead. Oh, God. For the first time since we'd met I didn't want to touch her.

I did though. With the tips of my fingers I combed the hair aside from her face. Her eyes were closed. Blood had been dripping from the corner of her mouth, soaking her jumper. I wiped the blood away from her mouth with my shirtsleeve. I touched her bruised cheek. It was still somewhat warm.

Then I heard heavy footsteps coming down the hall. I panicked and pulled Sydney's body to my chest. I don't know why I did it but I needn't have worried. In the next moment Vaughn and Jack came crashing into the room. I had forgotten that they were following behind me.

"We were too late," was all I could say.

I know it's selfish, but I can't remember anything else about the next few minutes. I couldn't tell you how Jack or Vaughn reacted though I'm sure it was with considerable sorrow and pain. All I could think about, to tell the truth, was Sydney and how I just didn't know how I could go on without her.There was no need to keep the cause of her death a secret but all the same her official CIA eulogizer spoke nothing of it and we were admonished to only speak of Sydney's life in the most generalist of terms. I had asked Jack if I could say something and as I stood up in front of the private congregation I felt like a smaller version of myself. "Sydney and I met at UCLA fifteen years ago. I remember thinking how much I'd like to know her. All those years ago I never expected to find such a good friend in her. Such a faithful friend. She was my best friend." I paused, just those few words already almost too much to bear as the bite of an unseasonably cold wind swept through the cemetery. "I believe that mankind is ultimately good, but I'm frequently disappointed to find people whose souls have been darkened by the harshness of the world. By the darkness in others. Sydney was one of the few people I had ever known to fight so fiercely against that darkness of soul. She fought not only for herself but also for those she loved. And we all loved her for it." I made eye contact with Jack. And then Vaughn. Suddenly it didn't matter anymore that she had loved him and not me. "I loved her for it. I'm not sure how she'd have us remember her, which is funny when you think about it. People always assume that they know these things. But I know how I will remember her: I will remember Sydney Bristow as a strong human being. I will remember Sydney as a compassionate woman. I will remember her as a faithful friend. I will remember her as the best person I've ever known."

I stepped down from the podium and went to the casket. The logic in me knew that it was only Sydney's body in there but as I touched the dark finish of the wood I couldn't help but feel a strong inclination to rip open the lid and shake her. I wanted to make her come back.

But I didn't. Instead I just laid the flower I had been holding on top of the casket and walked back to my seat.


	2. Part 2

**Part 2**

_"Will, I'm tired. Can't we go home yet?"_

_"No! We can't miss Lawrence of Arabia. It's a classic! Besides, I thought you loved this movie, Syd." The two friends walked through L.A.'s China Town. Sydney seemed to be exhausted but Will had the energy of an eight-year-old on Christmas morning. Sydney propped herself up against a window that read, 'Dim Sum Made Fresh Daily'._

_"I do like this movie, but do we really need to go to the midnight showing?" She pulled a piece of gum out of her pocket book and shoved it into her mouth._

_He leaned against the window beside her. "Yes, we could have. But you were the one who insisted on dragging me to EVERY store in Beverly Hills that was having a fall sale. And then there was the late night Renaissance art exhibit that you insisted we go to. And then you were hungry . . ."_

_She rolled her eyes playfully. "Okay. Okay. I get it. But really. It's a midnight movie! Cut me a break. I have a business trip to D.C. tomorrow afternoon."_

_"You and that damn bank. Sydney, you're in grad school for god's sake. Do you want to graduate, or don't you?" He offered Sydney a hand up off the window and led her toward the theatre. "Tell them that you can't go on any more business trips until after you graduate. Then, when you graduate, tell them where they can put that job."_

_She laughed, "Wouldn't that be nice? I can see it now: I walk into my boss's office. He's sitting there in one of those tastefully odd suits of his and I say," she thinks for a moment. "And I say, 'Thanks for the opportunity, Mr. Sloane, but you can just shove it up your--'"_


	3. Part 3

**Part 3**

I continued on with the CIA as an analyst, but when I heard that Director Dixon had sanctioned a manhunt to find those responsible for Sydney's murder I asked him to allow me to work towards a field rating. He looked a little reluctant, but made no comment as he signed the forms giving me permission.

I knew he was concerned but I wasn't satisfied any longer being the pacifist while the people I loved died at the hands of terrorists and fanatics. That's not to say that I'd developed a blood lust. I still would never feel comfortable taking another human being's life. I know it didn't give me any comfort to feel that knife plunge into Allison's breast all those years ago . . . But at the same time I had known that I would have to killer her if I ever had the chance. Just like I knew that I needed the opportunity to bring Sydney's murders to justice.So I trained at an accelerated pace, and in six months I was field rated. On that day Dixon called me into his office.

"Agent Tippin, come in. I'd like to speak to you.""Yes, sir." Dixon closed the door after me. He motioned to his couch as he leaned back on the front of his desk. "Take a seat, Will. We haven't had much of a chance to talk about . . . things.""I know sir. I've been so busy training . . ."

"Will, I think we've been through enough mutually to forgo the need of formality. While CIA protocol may require it, in my private office lets just keep it to 'Dixon' and 'Will'.

"I smiled appreciatively, "Thanks."

Dixon crossed over to a chair opposite me and sat down. "I want to congratulate you on your new field rating status. You've worked hard and it shows. I admire your determination." A look of conflicting emotions collided on his face. It made me nervous. "But Will, I think you should know that Langley has ordered a halt on our investigation into the whereabouts of Sydney's killers."

It was like a punch in the gut. "What? Dixon, we can't just stop!"Dixon held up his hands to slow me down. "Will, it's been eight months and we haven't had a single lead that we were able to authenticate. Every tip has taken us to a _different_ dead end. Frankly, Langley won't allow us to expend any more time and money in pursuit of this."

"But that's not going to stop us right? I mean, it never has before."A sad smile crossed his face. "I know. How many clandestine missions have we gone on? And I don't regret a single one." He passed his hand across his face. "But this time I think it would be best to follow orders."

I almost couldn't believe what I was hearing. "You can't be serious! These are the men that killed Sydney. We can't just let them get away with it.

"It was only the sight of tears in Dixon's eyes that made me stop my ranting. "I loved her too, Will," he said. "God, we all loved her." Something passed behind his eyes and his voice took on that official tone again. "I've already spoken with Jack and Vaughn. They both agree. This is the right thing to do."

"What do you mean, they've agreed," I asked, edging out of my seat.

"That we should halt the investigation."

Angrily, I jumped from my chair and started pacing the room. "But why?" I asked, accusingly.

"It's not because we don't care anymore. It's not because we think that we'll never find them. If we search long enough we'll find them. But really, what good will it do?"I leapt at Dixon. I grabbed him by the shoulders and shook him. "Those bastards will get what they deserve! That's what good it will do."

He should have punched me, but instead there was a look of sympathy on his face. It was proof of the great respect and friendship he had for me, and his love for Sydney that he didn't court marshal me right that instant. Realizing this, I let him go and stepped back.

"Will. They may spend the rest of their lives in federal prison. Or die at one of our hands. But even if they die for what they did it won't bring Sydney back."

Sinking back into my chair, feeling totally defeated, I asked, "Why did you let me become field rated then?"

Dixon pressed his lips together for a moment before answering. "Because I knew you would go crazy if you didn't feel like you were doing something. Now it has to stop. Will, I'm ordering you to stop."

I stared at him in disbelief.

"I'm sorry Will. If you want to resign from the Agency I'll understand but I hope you won't. I think you'll make an excellent field agent despite this.

"My God, I thought. This is really happening. The look on Dixon's face precluded any possibility that he might be planning something he wasn't letting on to. He was clearly breaking up over this, though he was trying not to show it.I rested my head in my hands. "I don't know, Dixon."

"Well, take the rest of the week off. I know this isn't an easy decision to make. I want you to consider all of your option, but I hope you'll decide to stay." He extended his hand for me to shake and as I took it he pulled me into a short embrace. When I stepped back I could see moisture in the corners of his eyes.

"Thank you, Dixon," I said, and left his office.


	4. Part 4

**Part 4**

_Will was woken up by the sound of several loud pounds on his door. As he stumbled out into the hall to see what was going on he heard glass break. Then the doorbell rang and there were more knocks on the door. He grabbed a baseball bat out of the coat closet and went to the door._

_"Who is it? If you're just playing a prank on me you'd better clear out." He looked at the baseball bat in his hand. "I've got a gun," he added._

_"Don't make me laugh, Will. I know you don't have a . . ." There was a pause and then, "For god's sake, Will. Just let me in."_

_Will threw the bat aside and swung the door open. Slumped over on his front step was Sydney. From the looks of her she was very drunk and had just thrown up on his bushes. The glass he'd herd breaking was a bottle and it was scattered across the sidewalk. Will didn't say anything, but helped her off of the ground and into his house. As he guided her to his couch she began sobbing. "I can't do it anymore. I just can't do it anymore." She leaned heavily against him and grabbed ahold of his t-shirt, as if to support herself. He lowered her onto the cushions gently. "Will, tell me that I can't do it anymore! If you tell me, maybe I'll listen."_

_"Shh, Sydney," he soothed, stroking her hair._

_"What? You don't think I should stop?" Her eyes looked lost, like a small dog he remembered finding on the beach once when he was a child. It had shivered in his arms just like he could feel her shivering now._

_He didn't know what she was talking about. But he did know that he wouldn't find out while she was in this drunken state. "Syd, lay back here on the couch." He began to get up to give her room. "You need to rest. And some hydration, I think. I'll get you some water."_

_She reached out and grabbed his hand as he moved away toward the kitchen. "No, don't go."__"I'll be right back, Syd."_

_She sat up a little and began to pull him back. "Please. Stay." He could see the need in her eyes and it tugged at him. This wasn't the way their relationship usually worked. Not that he was usually the needy one, but he'd rarely seen her this way. She looked so weak; and she was never weak. __Not knowing exactly what to do, he sat back down on the couch and wrapped his arms around her. Before that moment he'd never really considered that there was something going on with her, or maybe to her, that she hadn't shared with him. This realization struck him but he reminded himself that it wasn't about him right now._

_Her sobs continued on for a few more minutes but eventually she quieted and he leaned back with her __into the corner of the couch. They stayed like that for a while, with Sydney lying still against Will's chest as he ran his fingers through her hair with long stokes._

_"Will?" she finally asked._

_"Yeah," he answered, lifting his head._

_"Do you love me?"_

_He shifted uncomfortably underneath her. "Of course I do." He wanted to say an emphatic 'YES'! But at the same time he was afraid of what she was getting at._

_"No." _

_She moved closer to him and he could feel her breath on his cheek. "I mean do you love me?" Before he could say or do anything she planted a hungry kiss on his lips. His mind and emotions reeled in confusion for about a second but his emotions won over and he pulled her closer and began kissing back. This was what he'd always wanted wasn't it? The most beautiful and wonderful woman he'd ever known wanted him. Will Tippin. He tried not to notice the whiskey he tasted in her mouth._

_After another few moments Sydney slipped her hand under his shirt and ran her fingers across his chest. He could feel her other hand moving toward his waistband. He moaned into Sydney's lips. But as he moaned his mind took over once again. He couldn't take advantage of Sydney like this. How could drunken, comfort sex bring anything good? What about tomorrow morning?_

_As much as he wanted to continue on in this devil-may-care fashion he stopped himself. He stopped kissing her and gently pulled her hands from under his clothing. "Syd, we can't." For a moment she tried to continue kissing him, but the tears had begun again. Will cupped her face in his hands to stop her. "Syd, I love you so much. But we can't do this," he said, wiping the tears away. _

_Sydney let out a deep sigh and buried her face in his neck. "I'm sorry, Will."_

_"Don't be sorry," he said as he wrapped his arms around her. "I get it."_

_"I should go."__She began to sit up, but Will pulled her back down to rest on his chest. "No, you don't need to go. We can stay like this until morning if you want." He felt her exhale and some of the tension ease away and he sensed it was time for a well-placed joke. "But you are going to have to wash these sweats for me tomorrow. You got lipstick all over them."_

_She punched him sharply on the arm. __"Ow!" he said, laughing.__"_

_That's what you get, mean man." He could hear the laughter in her voice and for a moment it hung in the air like a sweet scent. Will wished that he could stay in that moment forever with her in his arms.__"Will, I need to tell you something."_

_"What, that you've had too much to drink? I'd say that was pretty obvious."_

_"I'm being serious, Will." __There was a feeling of foreboding in the room now, just as tangible as the laughter that was there only moments ago. After a pause, during which his mind ran over a thousand different possibilities, each more odd and disturbing than the one before, he said, "All right. What do you want to tell me?" _

_She waited a beat, presumably forming the right words. "__I don't work at a bank. I work for Central __Intelligence."_


	5. Part 5

**Part 5**

"Will, there's a package for you on the stairs. I thought it was going to rain, so I brought it in."

"Oh, thanks Gina," I said, shaking the water from my jacket as I came in the door. "Yeah, it's raining now." I took the jacket off and placed it on the coat rack. "How was your day?"

Gina came into hallway with a glass of wine in each hand. "Just like yesterday. Sometimes I wonder why I became a banker." She handed me one of the glasses. "Here. It doesn't look like I need to ask you how your day went." She kissed me lovingly. "C'mon. I picked up some Chinese on the way home."

I let her lead me into the kitchen by the hand. What I love the most about Gina is how she can always tell when I don't want to talk. In those cases she would just ramble on and on about harmless things, not needing me to respond very often. Sometimes I wonder what I've ever done to deserve someone like her. Especially when I have to lie to her about everything. It isn't just the Job. Since the day we met she has known me as an analyst for the State Department. The fact that I actually work for the CIA and that I'm now a field agent isn't the lie that bothers me the most. Sometimes I've even suspected that she knows that my job is more secretive than I let on, but she's never pushed the subject.

The lie that troubles me the most is Sydney.

I love Gina. She's so alive and it makes me feel like I could finally be the man I've always wanted to be. But I love Sydney too. I've known her and loved her for so long I'm not sure I can ever get rid of those feelings. Even now that she's gone, I can't shake her from my consciousness. I loved Sydney the day Gina and I met. I loved Sydney the first time I said, 'I love you,' to Gina. She's always there.The crazy thing about it all is that Gina and Syd were friends. They had met way back when Syd was still at SD-6 at some banker's convention. Of course they had lost touch with the kind of life that Sydney lived, but one day I was out to lunch with her when the two of them bumped into each other. That's how Gina and I met. What kind of messed up coincidence is that? Meeting the woman I would grow to love so much through the woman that I've loved for most of my life. It's enough to drive a person insane eventually.

"I'm thinking about quitting the State Department, Gina," I suddenly said from where I sat across from her at the table. It was practically the first thing I'd said that night.She blinked and laid down her chopsticks. "Was it that bad today?"

"I'm just not happy there anymore. I don't even know how I ended up there in the first place."Gina reached across the table and laid her hand over mine. "Then quit, baby. Why don't you start writing again?"

"I wish it were that simple, Gina. I don't know." I picked up my box of Chinese and stood to throw it into the trash. Really I just didn't want her to see the emotion that I knew must be written across my face. I was afraid that if she could see it, I would just tell her everything. And I couldn't do that. "Maybe it's just something I need to get over. You know, my expectations were too high."

Gina got up from the table and wrapped her arms around me from behind, laying her cheek against my shoulder. "Baby, if you're unhappy... Then you're unhappy." She kissed his neck. "I want you happy."

"If I quit my job we can't get married."

She paused for a moment but then said, "Says who? Besides you haven't even asked me yet."

"I know. But don't you want to? I can't support you if I go back to freelance writing. I could barely support myself."

"That's sweet, but I don't need you to support me, Will. It's the 21st century."

"Well, I don't want you to have to support me either."

Gina sighed and let go. "We'd find a way. C'mon. Let's go sit on the couch. The Late Show is on."

And that was the end of the conversation. Gina hated arguments and honestly I didn't want to talk about it anymore either. We spent the next hour on the couch watching late night television and then she said she was going home. I helped her on with her coat at the door. "I'll follow you home."

She just laughed and touched my face. "Always the gentleman, Will. But that won't be necessary. I live ten minutes away."

"I know, but it's late."

"I'm a big girl," she said as she kissed me. "Good night."

"Good night Gina."


	6. Part 6

**Part 6**

I watched Gina drive away from my living room window. It looked like another beautiful night, but then again, we rarely ever have anything but beautiful nights in California. Even when it rains I don't really mind all that much because the air is still warm. It's one of the reasons I stayed here, rather than transferred when I came back to the CIA. Warm climates just suit me. There were other reasons too, but I don't guess I need to remind you of those.

There were too many things going through my mind that night, and even though I could feel exhaustion setting in, I didn't want to go to bed. So I grabbed a beer from the fridge and went out on to the patio to 'get my mind off things'. I knew I was kidding myself, but I thought I'd at least try . . . and maybe the beer would take the edge off things. In fact it did more than that; coupled with my mental exhaustion and the night breeze, I fell asleep there in the cushioned lounger before I even finished the bottle. I don't really know much about psychology but I've heard that whatever your thoughts are most consumed with before you fall asleep, those things will influence your dreams. It must be true because I had a very vivid dream that night about Sydney and Gina. It was so much like reliving a memory, except for that it was as if I were watching a movie. Or maybe it was almost like a pseudo out-of-body experience. Whatever it was, I remember I woke up feeling more conflicted than when I drifted off.

_It was around noon on a Saturday almost five years ago. Will stood on the corner of Sunset and Vine, waiting for Sydney. He hoped that she hadn't been called away at the last minute but he wouldn't be surprised if she had been. Spies don't get weekends off necessarily. Still, he had his fingers crossed that she'd meet him there and they'd be able to enjoy a nice lunch together. He smiled when he saw her coming around the corner. He walked to meet her and if his stride were a little quicker than her own no one would notice but he._

_"Hi, Will," she greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "You weren't waiting very long were you? I had some last minute paper work to take care of."_

_"No," he lied. She was nearly twenty minutes late. "I was . . I actually just got here myself. Damn lawn mower wouldn't start."_

_She laughed and took his arm as they walked toward a bistro at the end of the block. "You aren't a very good liar, Will. I'm sorry I kept you waiting."_

_"It's all right. I know what your line of work requires. I'm just glad that I'm talking to you in person instead of over the phone because you're on a plane to Spain or something." She laughed again and her face lit up like a mirror reflecting the sun. It was all he could do not to get down on his knees and ask her to marry him that second. He knew she'd never say yes. She'd find some way to smooth it over without ever completely rejecting him, so he kept his mouth shut and his knees off the pavement. He had come to accept the fact long ago that she couldn't give him more than friendship. It didn't stop him from torturing himself, though. __Snap out of it, Will, he thought. The hostess showed them to their table on the patio which faced the street and they spent a few minutes in silence as they looked over the menu. "I think I'm just going to have a veggie wrap. What do you think, Will?"_

_"You know that sounds healthy and all but you know they prepare those things on the same grill as __the all that greasy gyro meat. Me, I think I'll save myself the delusion and just get a thick, juicy burger."_

_"Yes, and you'll also save the Agency from paying your pension."_

_"I don't think they'll need to worry about financing your retirement either, Sydney." He had meant the remark as a joke but regretted saying it the second the words escaped his lips. He saw a wounded expression cross her face and she looked away. Each mission she went on she risked her life but she always preferred to ignore that reality when they were together. He knew she counted on him for some semblance of normalcy. "I'm sorry, Syd."_

_She opened the menu again but didn't look at him. "Maybe you're right. The Cobb Salad looks good too. I'll have that." It was a gesture of denial and it made him angry. To hell with her denial._

_"Hey, Sydney. It's me!" He pulled the menu from her hands and she finally looked him in the eyes, but in surprise. "We need to talk. I don't know how much longer I can stand this alternate reality you silently make me go through."_

_"What is that supposed to mean?" she asked defensively.__"It means that I don't want to ignore what you do for a living anymore."_

_"Will, you know that I can't talk about classified information with you."_

_Their waiter approached, ready to take their order but Will waved him away. "You know that's not what I mean."_

_"Then what do you mean, Will?"_

_"I don't want you to hold back anymore. Remember that night you came to my place, we . . ."_

_He didn't have to finish because she knew exactly what he was referring to. "Will, I was drunk. You know it would have been a mistake for us to sleep together."_

_"For god's sake, that's not what I meant. You were REAL with me that night, Sydney! You didn't hold anything back."_

_"And I do now? Will, you?re my best friend. If I can't talk to you, who can I talk to?"__"Then why don't you?"__She picked up her menu angrily again like it was a shield. "I do."_

_"You aren't now."_

_She didn't say anything, but folded her menu and signaled for the waiter to come back._

_"Great," he mumbled under his breath. "Just great."_

_"I'll have the cobb salad and an iced tea," she told the waiter.__"I'll have a burger, medium. And a beer." The waiter walked away with a nod and a bewildered __expression._

_"Isn't it a little early to start drinking?" _

_Her voice sounded more worried than anything else now._

_"Yeah, well I guess I can make unhealthy decisions just as well as you."_

_There it was again, that pained expression. She reached across the table and took his hand in hers. "You have to understand, Will--"_

_"Sydney! Sydney Bristow?" A voice called from over Will's shoulder. He turned around to see a woman moving toward them excitedly from the sidewalk. Sydney looked confused at first then recognition dawned across her face. __"Oh my god! Gina! Gina Torres!?" She stood up and greeted the woman with a warm embrace. _

_"__Sydney, I haven't seen you in years! Not since that banker's convention in '99, I think. Are you still at Credit Dauphine?" _

_At the mention of her very first cover assignment, Sydney turned to Will. __"Will, this is Gina Torres. Gina, this is Will Tippin." _

_He stood up from the table and shook Gina's hand. __"Nice to meet you, Gina."_

_When she saw Will she looked embarrassed and stepped back. "Oh, god. I'm interrupting a date aren't I? I'm sorry."_

_"Oh, we're just friends, right Sydney?" His words had a certain jab to them that made Sydney scowl at him over Gina's shoulder. "Please," he pulled a third chair away from a vacant table, "Join us." Sydney shot him another look, which Gina didn't seem to notice and Will pretended not to. __She seemed a little unsure. "Are you certain I'm not interrupting something?"_

_"No, you didn't interrupt anything important. Right, Syd?"_

_Well, she had to give in now. "Yes. I mean, no. Have a seat," she said with a smile that Will knew must have been forced. "I'm just so surprised to see you after all these years. Are you still with the same bank?" _

_Gina settled her purse next to the chair Will had pulled up to the table and they all three sat down. The waiter came by again and asked if she would like to order something. She didn't want anything except for an iced tea._

_"Actually I am still with the same bank. I'm branch manager now. Hellish hours, but I love it for some inexplicable reason. Wait, didn't I just ask you the same thing? Are you still at Credit Dauphine?"_

_"Actually, Credit Dauphine went under not long after the last time we saw eachother." No matter how upset Will was with Sydney he had to admit that she still knew how to skate around a subject with ease when she really needed to. "I work for the State Department now. As does Will. But he's in analysis and I'm in their accounting department."_

_Gina looked at Will with curiosity and he was suddenly struck by how beautiful her eyes were. "Oh, does that mean you're a spy Will?" __He smirked despite himself. _

_"No. That just means that I'm a glorified researcher for the government."_

_He saw laughter reflected in her eyes. "I was only joking, Will."_

_"Oh," he responded sheepishly at which she and Sydney burst out laughing at him._

The next morning I felt like I'd drunk five times as much as I actually had. I was glad now that Dixon had given me the rest of the week off because I was barely able to drag myself from the dew covered porch lounger and into the shower. Now I stood, clean but still not feeling much different, in my kitchen fiddling with the coffee maker. "I don't remember there being this many steps to brewing a pot of coffee," I mumbled in frustration. "Aw, forget it. I think I have some instant around here somewhere." I twisted the hot water handle and let it run while I searched the cupboards for the instant coffee that I had bought two years back while my last coffee maker was broken. "Aha! Here it is." I pulled it out from behind a box of brown rice and twisted off the lid. I dipped a spoon in but the granules had long since gone hard. "Well, damn."

From somewhere in the house I heard my cell phone faintly ringing. It was Gina's special ring. I tossed the instant coffee into the trash and went in search of my phone. It seemed to be coming from the living room but I couldn't find it and I knew there couldn't be too many more rings before my voice mail would answer. "Where the hell did it go?" I ripped the cushions off the couch and . . . "Yes! There it is!" But as I reached for it the ringing stopped. I grunted in annoyance as I flipped the phone open and saw that it had been Gina. I waited for the phone to signal that I had a voice mail. I waited but she evidently hadn't left a message, so I called her.

"Gina. Hey, you called but you didn't leave a message."

_"I'm sorry, I had another call coming in. -- Are you all right?"_

"Yeah, why do you ask?"

There was a pause on the other end. "Well, I just tried you at work and they said you had called in sick."

Called in sick? They must have told her that because Dixon had given me the week off. But, why wouldn't they just tell her that I was off? I heard Gina chuckle on the other end.

_"__Playing hooky are we?"_

Saved! I made an exaggerated cough and tried to make my voice sound nasal. "No. I've got this terrible head cold, actually."

_"Liar,"_ she laughed. _"Do you want some company? I could suddenly develop the flu and we could head to the beach!"_

I smiled. That was my girl. Spontaneous. "Baby, I would love that. How soon can you get away?"

_"Oh -- Oh, I think I'm going to throw up right now! Oh!"_

CLICK.

Laughing I went back into the kitchen to have another go at the coffee maker.


	7. Part 7

**Part 7**

Gina and I were lying on beach towels in our bathing suits roughly an hour and a half later. A mixed scent of sea salt and Banana Boat wafted through the air. Even on a weekday we weren't exactly alone on the strip but it wasn't as crowded as it would have been on Saturday.

"Wow," Gina said. "I am so glad we did this!"

"I know, is this the life or what?"

Gina searched for my hand and took it without opening her eyes. It felt so good to be so still and quiet. Gina evidently felt this too because she didn't venture too much conversation after that. We just let the sun shine down and the breeze sail over us. I couldn't tell you what I was thinking about and that's a blessing. I needed to empty my mind after all the weeks and months of internal conflict that I'd been having. Around noon I asked her if she wanted anything to eat but she just shook her head and turned over onto her stomach. "I've got water. I'm all set."

"Well, I think I'll go and get a hot dog or something." I said as I got up."You know," she said to me, squinting against the sun, "the FDA allows a maximum of three rat droppings per pound of that stuff."

"Oh, shut up," I said playfully and kicked some sand at her.I made my way up to the boardwalk. There were little hotel restaurants standing alongside the concrete walk that served fresh crab and Pina Coladas at tables with white clothes, pinned down so that they wouldn't blow away. In front of those restaurants were smaller vendors selling boardwalk fries, fruit drinks that came in tall plastic cups with even taller straws . . . and there were also hot dogs. I decided to skip the hot dog and bought some cheese-smothered fries that came in a convenient little cardboard tub instead. I ignored the exorbitant price and paid the teenage girl with a smile. She just gave me a bored half smirk and a handful of paper napkins in return. As I headed back I saw a man sitting alone on one of the benches that looked out over the beach. There wasn't anything, at first glance, to make him stick out from any other person, but there was something about him that made me pause. My journalism professors taught me a lot, as did my field instructors these past six months. There was one lesson where the two coincided: Trust your gut. My gut was telling me that this man was watching me. I walked over and sat down on the bench with him as I shoved a couple of cheesy fries into my mouth. Still chewing on them I looked at him, smiled and said, "So, what can I do for you?"

"Well, well." said the man, never looking away from the beach. "Someone has been to field training school."

"Sure have. Not that it made any difference at all." I wiped my fingers off with one of the paper napkins and set the fries down in between us. "Were you trying to look conspicuous?"

The stranger cracked a smile but still didn't look in my direction. "I came to ask you a question, Mr. Tippin."

"I suppose it would be a waste of time to inquire who's asking."

"A friend, Mr. Tippin. A friend. And I sent you a package the other day. I was wondering if you had received it yet.

"I thought back to the night before. Gina had said there was a package for me on the stairs, but I had forgotten all about it. "Yes. I received it. I haven't opened it though. But I suppose you already knew that or you wouldn't be here."

"Why haven't you opened it?"

"Other things on my mind, I guess."

"You might want to start thinking about it now," he said, cryptically. And just like that he stood up and walked away. I sat there for another minute before I too got up and went back to Gina.


	8. Part 8

**Part 8**

I dropped Gina off at her apartment early that evening. All day I had been thinking about the "package" but I couldn't come up with any good excuses to leave her so early on in our stolen day. As I drove home I went through a dozen different theories and scenarios of what "it" might be. Part of me wondered if I should take it directly to Marshall and have him run an explosives and bio-toxin scan on it, just to be safe. But then I thought, I'd only been field rated for twenty-four hours. I hadn't even been sent on my first authorized mission, meaning that I didn't know jack-squat about anybody that would want me dead.

At least that's what I told myself as I held the thin manila envelope in my hands. I turned it over, went over every corner and felt for anything suspicious. There was nothing on the outside to give me pause or any hint as to what was inside. It was perfectly flat. Of course there was no return address and the postmark said Burbank, CA. I guess I wasn't expecting to find anything but the same conclusion that had made me feel safe to open this package was now making me nervous for another reason: No one knew I was a field agent yet. Why would someone want to mail a package to my home and then spy one me to make sure that I opened it? This was all too bizarre.

One time, in Warsaw, I had told Sydney that I lived for this kind of thing. And it was true. I could feel the blood pounding in my ears but some things were a little too much. Even after all I'd seen. -- I pulled my cell phone out of my pocket and began to dial in to the Rotunda as I opened the package. Whatever was inside, I would follow protocol and notify my handler immediately. A dispatcher picked up and I gave her my identification number, asking her to please patch me through to my handler, Jack Bristow. While I was on hold I held my breath and dumped the contents of the envelope on to the kitchen counter. I gasped and hung up the phone just as I heard Jack coming on the line.

Inside were copies of half a dozen satellite photos with coordinates and date/time stamps. The one on the top was of Sydney and it looked as though she were walking toward a warehouse. I recognized both her clothes and the warehouse. The date/time stamp confirmed my suspicions. These were photos of Sydney's last moments. There were three of them, each showing her as she moved around the building and as she went in. The next one showed several men, carrying guns, as they walked in about fifteen minutes later. I could feel my heart rising up in my throat as I studied these photos in horror. The last two satellite photos were of a single man. I didn't recognize him but knew he must be the leader because he never entered the building and carried nothing but a brief case. My blood went cold as I looked at the second picture, which was clearer. He was an older man, with thinning hair and a mustache. He was on a cell phone and smoking a cigarette as if nothing of great importance were happening -- all while I knew Sydney was dying.

I felt around inside the envelope to make sure nothing else was inside and my fingers folded around a slip of paper. On it were two typed lines.

**ALEXANDER VONICELLO**

**ROME, ITALY**

I stared at those two lines. Read the words over and over again. This must be the man responsible, I thought to myself with cold hatred. But beyond that I knew nothing of Alexander Vonicello. I'd never heard his name, in all my years with the Agency, connected to anything or anyone. So I opened up my laptop and went online. First, I simply entered the name into a Google search, but as I expected, found nothing of importance. Then I linked the name to Rome. Still nothing. He wasn't president of or sat on a single board of directors that I could find. I even entered his name into several different genealogy search engines. I came up with several matches but they were all dead or too young to be the same man in the SAT photo.

"I need to log into the Agency's network and look for this guy."

Then my cell rang. I looked at the caller ID. It was Jack calling me back. Of course I had to answer it.

_"Why did you hang up on me?"_

"Sorry, Jack. I -- I can't talk on this line. I'm coming in."

_"Are you in danger?"_ was his clipped response.

"No. No, I don't think so."

_"Then I'll see you in fifteen minutes."_

Of course he was still in the office. Sometimes I used to wonder if he lived there.


	9. Part 9

Part 9

"There was nothing else in the envelope?"

I did my best to keep a straight face like Jack. If Sydney's father, even as stoic as he was, could manage to keep it under control while looking at these photographs then I should have been able to as well. "Yeah. That was all. I was hoping you'd see something I wasn't."

Jack held up the photographs to the light, one at a time. "There aren't any finger prints on these." He dropped them back into the envelope. "Not that I expected any."

"That would be too easy, wouldn't it?" I said.

"It would be a stroke of luck indeed, Agent Tippin. Now, you're sure no one else has seen these?" He looked at me with calculating eyes and I felt the all-too-familiar feeling of being interrogated by Jack Bristow. "No one was in the house when I opened the package. Gina picked it up off my porch yesterday, but she didn't open it."

"Are you sure? Did you inspect it?"

"Mr. Bristow, she's my girl friend, not a spy," I said defensively. "Why would she open it?"

"Agent Tippin," he said buttoning his high-priced, tailored suit, "you of all people, besides, perhaps, myself and Agent Vaughn, should know the dangers of trusting someone simply because they share our beds."

I wanted to hit him. Even after the lapse of nearly ten years Alison Doren was still a sore spot. I'm not sure it'll ever go away. It was like she was a loaded gun—and in Jack's hands a weapon always hit its target. What made me hold my tongue was the fact that I knew that he wasn't being cruel just for the sake of cruelty. He was absolutely right. "Maybe you can be suspicious of everyone, Jack, but I can't."

Jack merely shrugged. "All I'm saying is that you shouldn't rule out her involvement."

"Trust me, for the same reasons you just suggested, I've _learned_ from my mistakes. If Gina had something to do with this I'd know."

"Fine. I'll have Marshall take a look at these pictures. At the very least he can find out which satellite took them. We'll go from there."

I reached for the envelope on Jack's desk. "I'll take them to him myself, thanks."

"No, Agent Tippin. I will," he said simply as he scooped up the envelope before I could take it. "We need to treat this with the utmost secrecy. No one but you and I will know about this until we can authenticate them."

"You don't think someone within the Agency is responsible, do you?"

"It wouldn't be the first time."

"But you're going to let Marshall see them."

Jack passed by me and opened his door. "Marshall isn't a spy."

I took that as my cue to leave his office.


	10. Part 10

**Part 10**

My sister, Amy, says that people never really change. Now, by-and-large, blanket statements make me a little hot under the collar, so we usually get into an equally hot debate whenever the subject comes up. Every time I bring up people like Ghandi and Malcolm X and other men and women I've interviewed over my journalism career. Yet no matter how strong my arguments were, that people _could_ change if they set their minds to it, she'd find a way to deflect every single one. I'll never know how she does it, but I keep a secret weapon in my back pocket: When the argument gets so intense that I can't stand it anymore I take out my wallet and pull my sobriety chip from an inner flap and flash it in front of her face. Well, she couldn't say anything contrary to that. She'd just shrug guiltily and say, "You're the exception, bro."

Of course I'd feel awful later, because that part of my life is complete fabrication. In what seems like eons ago, Jack Bristow himself, put that lie into motion when he injected me with heroine and dumped me in a drug den. He had to destroy my life in order to save it from the terrorist cell called SD-6. Of course, Amy will never know any of this.

And now I'm finally admitting, at least in my case, that she may be right. Despite the fact that I've gone through many metamorphoses in my life: reporter, recovering addict, intelligence analyst, construction worker and finally an agent for Central Intelligence—inside I'm still the same old Will who can't let go of anything.

He and Sydney kept pace with one another as they ran through the park early in the autumn twighlight. The air was crisp and cool, perfect for running, and for a while they let the rhythm of their shoes crunching the dried leaves underfoot be the only sounds between them. It was a comfortable arrangement. He enjoyed just being with her and Sydney seemed to enjoy not having to talk about the previous few months. Will didn't need to ask why. Everyone in the Agency knew that she and Vaughn had filed for divorce after only two years of marriage. People said it was to be expected. Two agents, with so much pressure in their lives, should have never gotten married in the first place. Only those who knew her best, like he and Jack remained silent on the subject, out of respect for Sydney.

Up ahead was a bridge that passed over a smallish stream. Sydney suddenly smiled.

_"Wanna jump it," she asked playfully._

_"What," Will laughed back, not really comprehending, but she had already darted ahead, making a quick veer to the side without him. He sped up to keep pace with her, continuing over the bridge as she leapt the five foot trench with ease._

_"Show off," he called out to her jokingly._

_A few yards later they stopped, hands on their knees and panting. "You're just jealous you didn't think of it first."_

_Wow, it was good to see her smiling again, he thought, and then he said so. He immediately wished he hadn't when the smile vanished from her face. "I'm sorry. I know I've been a drag to be around lately," she said._

_"Shut up," he said, beginning to walk away as he wiped an arm across his sweaty brow._

_"Excuse me?" she asked incredulously._

Impulsively he turned around and grasped her shoulders in his large hands. "Shut up, Sydney," he said again, though his voice and expression was softer this time. "You aren't seriously apologizing to me for being a little messed up these last few months." She looked away, trying to hide the tears that sprang unbidden to her eyes. "You know I've always had your back."

_"I know," she said._

_Craning his neck so that he could look into her eyes, he smiled. _

_"Do you?"_

_She smiled weakly but honestly back, "Yeah."_

_"Good."_

_After that, they started the jog back. The atmosphere between them was much easier and they talked and joked as they used to until they reached their cars. The sun had almost set by then and they leaned against Will's jeep for a while, soaking up the last rays of the day. It was peaceful to just talk about normal things. Once upon a time Will wouldn't have let Sydney get away with not talking out her problems with him, but as the years had passed __he'd learned to keep silent and let things just _ be _between them. Usually, in her own time she'd come around and talk about it one way or another. He was satisfied. _

_Will stretched his arms over his head, liking the feeling of his tense muscles loosening. "Well, I guess its time for me to get back."_

_"Are you seeing Gina tonight?"_

_"Yeah, we're going to some silly art exhibit. I'm pretty sure my nephew could reproduce most of that stuff with his baby food," Sydney laughed at that and it made him feel good. "But what can I do? She likes it. And I have to do what she wants if I want her to say yes."_

_Sydney looked at him not comprehending at first but then her eyes lit in excitement, "No!"_

_He smiled, tentatively, "Yeah. I'm going to ask Gina to marry me tonight."_

_Sydney jumped on him, laughing and cheering, almost knocking him off his feet as she squeezed him tightly. "Oh my god! You're getting married! Oh my god!" _

_"Only if she says yes," he said, leaning his chin on her head. "Do you think she will?"_

_"If she doesn't, I think I'm going to have to beat her up!" she exclaimed, pulling back to raise her hand in a mock fist._

_"That's not exactly the answer I was looking for," he laughed._

_The moment grew unexpectedly tender as Sydney looked up into Will's eyes. "She'll say yes," she said and then laid her head to rest against his chest. They just stood there for a long time holding each other as Will stroked her hair while Sydney softly cried._

On his way home, Will took the ring out of his jacket pocket and locked it up in the glove compartment.


	11. Part 11

**Part 11**

I headed straight for my desk after leaving Jack's office.

In the back of my mind I knew that I should have gotten the hell out of there, and fast, but I couldn't make myself. It was as if my staying or leaving would somehow effect the outcome of whatever Marshall was doing with the evidence I'd brought in. Just being in the Rotunda right then, and having nothing to do but wait was nearly enough to drive me insane. Besides my silly superstitions I had another reason for staying: Jack Bristow. He was a secretive son-of-a-bitch and I had the sneaking suspicion that he'd do anything to keep me out of the loop. I wouldn't have put it past him, anyway. At least from this vantage point I had a clear view of both Jack and Marshall's offices. So I waited and watched.

A short time later my cell rang. I had been sitting there so tensely that I practically jumped out of my chair when it happened. I checked the caller ID before answering and it was Gina. I hesitated. What was I going to tell her? I was supposed to be unhappy with my job. I was supposed to be off for the week, yet there I was working late again. On top of that I was feeling a little guilty that the reason I was there was for Sydney's sake. I could have lied to her, and I would _have_ _to_ about the why's and whatfore's, but the fact that she was calling my cell meant that she had already tried my land line and knew that I wasn't home. I looked at my watch and saw that it was closing in on midnight. Where else could I be at this hour if not at work? I realized that an answer didn't exist that would make her happy and ignoring her call would be even worse. There was nothing for me to do but answer.

"_What are you doing out so late, babe_?" she said after I greeted her.

"Eh, I'm at work."

Silence.

"I know. I know."

Another long pause and then, "_If you know why are you there_?"

"I know you're mad, Gina but –"

_"I'm not mad Will, I'm _concerned_. Whenever you're working late you come home in a foul mood and its me that has to pick up the pieces."_

"I thought you weren't mad," I said, a little defensively. Out of the corner of my eye I saw movement in Jack's office. His door swung open and he walked out. I caught his eye as he continued on toward Marshall's lab. This was it! I still had Gina on the line though.

"_Will, please don't do this. Don't turn this into a fight. I'm just trying to help you_." She sounded hurt and that made me feel even guiltier, but I could see Marshall leading Jack over to a computer screen. "_I love you_," she finished. It was a plea, but there was nothing I could do. I needed to get in that office.

"I'm sorry, babe. I apologize, but I have to go. I'll call you in the morning."

I barely heard her say, "_Will, wait—,_" as I hung up the phone. It was the worst thing I could have possibly done and something I regret even to this day, but I was consumed.

Jack gave me a hostile look as I pushed the door open and walked into the room. A sweaty and tired looking Marshall shot his superior officer a questioning glance, as if wondering whether or not he should keep going with me in the room. "Hey, Will. Didn't know you were still here this late." He was stammering but at the same time toggled off of the window he was showing Jack on his computer.

"Agent Tippin. I thought it was implied in our last conversation that I would fill you in on what was found at a later time." The man's annoyance was thinly veiled, but I decided to play dumb.

"I'm sorry, sir. I must have misunderstood. I thought you would want me here to help you suss out whatever Marshall learned about the satellite photos."

"Thank you for the forethought, Agent Tippin, but you _were_ mistaken. Marshall and I are capable of deciphering the results on our own."

"Still, sir, three heads are better than two. I'd like to stay, if you'll allow it." I was skating on thin ice, I knew, but I hardly cared at that point. I stood there straight and tall.

Jack took a long while to answer. His face was as stoic as ever but I knew that he was most likely considering whether to kick me out, court-martial me or perhaps something worse. Finally I realized what a precarious situation I had just put myself in, but it was too late now.

Then, with a nearly imperceptible nod, he let me off the hook. "Very well. Continue Marshall." To which our tech guru let out a sigh of relief (apparently he thought I had cooked my goose also) and brought the window back up onto the screen.

"As I was saying, Mr. Bristow," he began as I came up beside them and looked at the monitor. I saw nothing but gibberish, though Marshall seemed to see something significant there as did Jack, "and what we already knew, was that there were no satellites pointed at the warehouse in Prague where Sydney's mission took place, but I checked again just for the heck of it. Because, you know, we go way back."

Jack didn't return the congenial smile. "Go on," he said.

"Well that's just it. I came up with the same conclusion as before. There _were_ _no_ birds flying over Prague that night." Then he pulled my SAT photos out from under a crinkled pile of papers, though how he kept up with them in that mess was beyond me. "And that's extremely wacky considering we _always_ have surveilance over our teams when they're on mission."

Jack took the images from him and held them up to the light. "Then these photos must be doctored somehow," he said.

Maybe I had been making something out of nothing after all.

"Nuh-uh," he countered. "I checked them out and there isn't a single sign of fabrication. I even scanned the images and ran them through a program I created that checks pictures for one-hundred different signs of manipulation." He brought up a second window which showed the photos again. He typed in a command and the program went to work. Roughly forty-five seconds later a message box popped up:

NO SIGNS OF MANIPULATION.

His face glowed with the typical Marshall-kicks-ass smile. "That's right kids, these are bonified satellite photographs," until he finished the sentence, "of Sydney's, uh, last mission." Jack's face showed no emotion. "Sorry. Sir."

He waved off the apology. "Thank you, Marshall. You've done good work here." And with a glance at me. "Agent Tippin, my office please."

Naturally, I followed him out.

* * *

**A/N: No, I'm not even remotely finished. Why would you even think something so ridiculous? Silly . . . It's not like I made you wait 3 years for an update or anything. ;-) . . . But seriously, folks, I can think of no better motivation for me to keep going than REVIEWS!**


	12. Part 12

**Chapter 12**

Electricity pulsed through my limbs as I followed Jack the short distance to his office. This was the lead we'd been waiting for! Sydney's killers might actually go down and I might actually get to see it happen. I didn't suffer under any delusions, Jack would probably let me as close to this as he would an armed nuclear bomb, considering my lack of true field experience . . . but he hadn't kicked me out yet, and that gave me hope that he'd let me be in on this. If only in some small way.

"Sit down, Will," he said without really looking at me. "I want you to give me a physical description of the man who approached you on the boardwalk."

My training kicked in: "He was in his mid forties, of medium height and build with light brown hair and brown eyes. He wore Bermuda shorts and a non-descript tan t-shirt."

"As unassuming and ordinary as dry toast," he muttered as if to himself. "How did you know that he was there to watch you?"

"It was a gut feeling, sir. Something about him just didn't seem right."

"I see." I was surprised to see that he didn't seem to feel the need to question my instinct but decided that it be better if I kept my amazement to myself. My guts churned in the time between that simple acknowledgment and what I suspected he might say next. I wasn't even close.

Jack turned his hard and calculating gaze on me. "Will, I'm going to ask you, point blank, about something uncomfortable," he said slowly. "I expect that you know me well enough by now to be aware that I can tell if you're lying." His delivery was chilling in its simplicity. I nodded, indicating for him to go on. Not that I'd had a choice.

"Have you and my daughter ever slept together?"

For a moment all I could do was stare at him. In the span of ten seconds all of the intimate moments between Sydney and I flashed through my memory. Those memories created in me such strong feelings that I almost inadvertently lied, and said that we had. But of course that wasn't true.

"No, Jack. We never did."

To my curiosity, I thought that I might have caught the faintest glimpse of disappointment on his face. It was hard to tell because he went on in his naturally precise tone without seeming to acknowledge my answer at all. "This intelligence will go no further than it already has." I knew he didn't mean the personal aspect of my relationship with his daughter. "Not even Dixon is to know what you have learned. Is that clear Agent Tippin?"

I stood for reasons I'm not entirely sure about. "Of course."

He eyed me again, as if he were trying to make out my sincerity but then said, "Pack a bag. We're flying out in the morning."

Stunned, there was nothing left to say but, "Yes, sir."

* * *

As I made the late-night drive home, suddenly the obvious occurred to me: Gina was going to be pissed. It also occurred to me that I might just be the biggest ass hole on the planet, but there was nothing I could do about it. My behavior had been inexcusable over the past couple of days and I wished there was something I could do or say to let her know that I was sorry. Instead, I was going to have to tell her that I was leaving. And to add more insult to the injury I couldn't tell her where I was going or when I'd be back. I honestly didn't even know if I'd _**be**_ back. How do you tell someone that, especially as the bookend to a string of douche-baggy behavior? Gina might never forgive me, and well―I wouldn't blame her.

But this was Sydney. Everything else would have to wait. Even forgiveness.

My front door opened and closed noiselessly as I entered my home. Up the stairs in a few long strides, I went straight to the hall closet where I pulled a duffel bag from the high shelf and then entered my bedroom. I was about to flick on the light to start packing, but instead I stopped. There was Gina, tangled in the top covers of my bed. She didn't look like she was sleeping peacefully, especially when I noticed that she was still in her clothes. God, she must have been waiting there for hours. Quietly, I crept over to the bed and sat down beside her. I didn't want to wake her yet. She could sleep a few more minutes before I had to tell her.

I've never really been good at escaping the inevitable, though. Sensing the weight on the bed, Gina moaned and batted her eyes open. Her first reaction was to smile up at me up at me but as she reached her hand out to stroke my arm I could tell that she remembered our fight from a few hours ago and her expression fell. "What time is?" she asked.

"A little after two," I answered. "How long have you been here?"

She turned her back to me as she sat up. "I came to wait for you right after you hung up on me."

"Oh." Now what was I going to say?

"About that, Gina--"

Her back still to me, she reached over and flicked on the lamp beside my bed. "What, Will? It'd better be good, because I've had a few hours to think about things and you don't come out smelling too rosy."

I scooted around to be somewhat closer to her on the bed, but not too close. "I'd like to say that I'm sorry."

She looked at me out of the corner of her eyes. "That's a start, I suppose."

I could feel the gorge rising in my throat. "You're probably not going to like the rest."

Nervously, she chaffed her hands against her wrinkled slacks. "I'll try to be reasonable―if you will," she said.

"This won't sound very reasonable, Gina."

She sighed. "Then just out with it, Will."

"I'm leaving in the morning," I watched her carefully for her reaction, "and I'm not sure when I'll be back."

She drew in a sharp breath and her expression tightened, almost as if I'd struck her. "Why?"

"I can't tell you any specifics, but this is the most important thing I've ever had to do in my life."

Faintly, I could see her lip quivering, but briefly since she repressed it in the next moment. "Aren't I important to you?" Her voice was full of reproach and it was my turn to wince.

"Oh God, Gina―of course you are. That's not the point at all."

"Then why can't you tell me? If I'm so important to you, why are you shutting me out?"

"I'm sorry," I said, defeated. "I just can't tell you."

She nodded. "Then I'm sorry too." She scooped up her purse from where she must have let it drop before she'd lain down and then stood up from the bed. Even though I knew she had every right to walk out on me--more I knew that there was no other outcome I could ever hope for--I couldn't help but make one last feeble attempt.

"Gina," I said. It was really all I could manage.

She turned from the doorway and gave me a long, appraising look. "Just so we're clear: Don't think that I don't know. I've known for a long time that you and Sydney didn't just work at the State department." I tried to interrupt her, but she held up her hand to stop me. "I stood beside you when she―died. Just don't make me have to stand beside your mother too."

My head swirled with confusion. "How did you know?" I didn't even think to deny it.

But she didn't answer. She came over to where I sat on the bed, took my face in her hands and as tears threatened to break from the corners of her eyes she kissed me lightly on the lips. "Good bye, Will."

And then she was gone.


End file.
